


the band-aid on the camel's back

by spaceboye



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s03e04 Vindicators 3: The Return of Worldender, Family Bonding, Gen, Heart-to-Heart, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, No Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-06 13:49:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12212538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceboye/pseuds/spaceboye
Summary: Sometimes "good enough" is all you need.





	the band-aid on the camel's back

Rick Sanchez of Earth Dimension C-137 got annoyed a lot. A _lot_. It wasn't too much of an exaggeration to say he was annoyed more often than he wasn't. Sometimes he got annoyed over a TV show. Sometimes one of his experiments didn't work out so well. Every now and then one of his family members would be in a pissy mood, which would subsequently throw Rick off as well. Rick got annoyed over weak alcohol and rude aliens and his overly-emotional grandchildren on at least a thrice-weekly basis.

Today, Rick was annoyed with himself.

It wasn't an unusual state of affairs. In fact, out of everything in the multiverse, Rick liked himself the least. Not that he was likely to admit it out loud, of course, but he knew it as well as he knew how to make concentrated dark matter, or how many wafer cookies he could eat before his stomach started to hurt, or how much he loved his daughter. It was an undeniable, unquestionable fact of life. It was an absolute.

So the question wasn't really, "Why is Rick annoyed with himself?" It was more along the lines of, "Why is Rick annoyed with himself _this time?"_

As the blue-haired curmudgeon glared over the lip of his flask at the fourteen year old sulking on the other side of the garage, he mused on that very question.

Morty had been in a funk ever since the Vindicators 3 incident. He had cussed Rick out a few times between the party and home that night, then stormed off to his room. At first, Rick figured it was a mix of normal teen irritability and the fact that Rick had just killed four-fifths of the kid's favorite superheroes. No big d. He'd get over it by morning, surely.

Much to Rick's surprise, his grandson was _not_ over it by morning. In fact, Morty seemed to be in a worse mood than before, barely sparing his grandfather a glance, let alone a word of greeting. He left for school early that day; Summer made no effort to hide her amusement. _"Geez, grandpa, what'd you do to piss him off this time?"_

Rick squinted down at his hands and thought, _'If only I fucking knew.'_

The next few days were a lot of the same. By the time a week had passed without so much as a word from Morty, Rick was starting to get ticked off. Strangely, though, he couldn't muster more than an ounce of irritation for his grandson. No, the lion's share of his bad mood was directed at himself, though he couldn't (or refused to) imagine why. He desperately wanted to be angry with Morty for ignoring him and making a big deal of nothing. Rick really, _really_ wanted it to be the kid's fault for giving a fuck.

But Rick was too smart for that. He knew better. He had gotten the kid's hopes up with that admission-- _"...It's possible I got so drunk, I felt like I was losing Morty to the Vindicators, and maybe... this is my way of saying, 'Okay, you can have him, but only if you know how important he is, otherwise I'll kill you.'"_ \-- and then whatever had been under that platform, whatever he had said or done while blackout drunk, had dashed them.

It wasn't the first time he'd hurt Morty, and it wouldn't be the last, but it was different this time. Rick usually knew what he'd done. Hell, half the time, Rick had actively chosen the words he knew would bring the kid down. At least then Rick could rationalize it with the knowledge that he was an asshole because he _chose_ to be one. Sometimes he could even convince himself he was being an asshole for Morty's own good, to keep him from getting cocky because cocky got people killed...

... But this time, there were no platitudes to hide behind. Rick had fucked up, all on his own, and he didn't even know what, exactly, he had _done_.

And as unbearable as the thought of admitting he was wrong might've been, not knowing was even more so.

So Rick set his flask on the workbench counter, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and walked over to his angry grandson.

"... S- **URRP** -so what the fuck's your problem lately?"

_'Dammit.'_

Morty's brow crinkled, and he refused for a long moment to look at his grandfather. Eventually, he turned hazel eyes on the old man and sighed. Rick tried not to show his surprise at what the boy's expression held; not just anger (though there was plenty of that), but also disappointment. In fact, it was mostly disappointment, which set Rick's nerves very strongly on edge. He wasn't accustomed to the feeling of being looked at like he was a particularly disgusting bug under a microscope. He was usually the one _giving_ those looks.

"Since when do you care?"

Rick felt the verbal barbs, but Morty's voice was just enough like that of a petulant child to let Rick slip back into control. The older man rolled his eyes, not realizing that he looked more than a little petulant and childish himself. "Uh, since you won't stop acting like a little bitch? You don't go on adventures, y-you peace out whenever I enter a room-" he glared at Morty, "- and you've been strutting that goddamn  _monotone_ for like, a week now. You're not Wednesday fucking Addams, Morty! Scowling at everyone doesn't make you look cool, i-it just makes you look like an idiot."

Now Morty did scowl, eyes flashing with indignation. "Oh yeah, like that stops you? Mister, mister _'I'm allergic to positive reinforcement'!_ Cut the crap, Rick. We both know you don't give a damn about me, so stop with the, the high-road bullshit! Since when do you _care,_ Rick?"

Sputtering in disbelief, Rick threw his arms up in the air. "O-of course I fucking... Where do you get off, _Morty_ , acting like I never done anything for you? Huh? I fucking, I helped you get an A in math, didn't I?"

"That was for you, Rick! That was just so I could help you on your dumb adventures more!"

Rick continued, ignoring his grandson's protests, "And I, I put the... I gave you the stupid collar! Remember that one, huh, Morty? W-what do you think of that? And I've saved your whiny little ass more times than I can count on one hand's _knuckles_!" Morty squinted as his grandfather's enraged spittle flew everywhere as a side effect of his ranting. "I even gave, threw you that bone, remember? With the Vindicators? The whole 'last trial' thing, w-with the platform? So don't act like I--"

"It wasn't for me."

Rick stopped dead in his tracks. His wrinkles almost seemed to deepen as he took a moment to process Morty's words. "What do you mean it wasn't for you? Who was it for?"

Morty looked off to the side and rubbed his arm with a sigh. All the fight had drained out of the boy. He just looked tired, now, and sad. "Noob noob. The little, uh, the guy who was laughing at your lame jokes? In the briefing room? It was for him. Y-you got wasted and made a whole big... _thing_ for that guy you barely knew, and goddamnit, Rick, you _cried_ , i-in that video. The one that played when I got taken under the platform? You..." Morty's voice wavered.

"Morty, are you serious?" Rick jumped in when his grandson's voice momentarily trailed off. Morty frowned suspiciously at the relief that dominated Rick's expression. "Holy shit, _that's_ what that was all about? Jesus, Morty, y-you really had me there, had me worried for a minute there." The old man paused for a split second, took a swig from his flask, and continued in a slightly more hurried voice. "I mean, I was worried I'd gone all, all sappy on you or something. But nope, your grandpa's no sap, h-he's no softy, Morty."

There were a great many things Morty wasn't very good at, but one thing he'd always had a knack for was reading people. He caught the small changes in his grandfather's demeanor, though it took him a little longer to piece all the unintentional cues together. "Y-you didn't know?"

With a snort, Rick peered critically into his flask. "What part of 'blackout dru- **UUURP** -nk are you not getting, Morty? Hey, c-c'mon, I need some more Balmora Blue. Maybe we can pick you up some--"

Rick broke off, shocked, when he looked back at Morty and found the kid crying quietly, one hand over his mouth. "Woah, what the hell? W-what is it now?"

For a very uncomfortable moment, Rick felt all the control he had over the situation slip away. Morty moved his hand to rake carelessly through his own short hair, revealing that he was cry-laughing rather than sobbing as Rick had originally thought. Feeling more than a little bit out of his element, Rick shifted in place. "M-Morty, what..."

The kid looked up at him, and Rick felt his heart constrict in a way he'd come to associate with his family. Morty wiped the last of his tears away and smiled. "Misinterpreting the moment, huh, Rick?"

It took Rick a moment to realize what his grandson meant.

"You might not've meant me when you were talking about 'the only part of the Vindicators that's got any value to you', but when it came down to the wire, y-you were ready to bet that you _had_ meant me." 

Rick felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment-- at the situation, the suggestion that he cared, the knowledge that his unfettered facade had slipped and _Morty_ of all people had picked up on it-- but the objections and insults Rick had lined up died in his throat when his grandson hugged him.

"You're not a hero, Rick, but you're not losing me, either."

A heavy moment passed, during which Rick certainly did _not_ tear up at all; and if Morty ever mentioned in the future that Rick had returned the hug, well, he could hardly blame the old bastard for denying it.

Rick cleared his throat and pushed Morty back a bit more gently than usual, then drained his flask. "Y-yeah, I'm fuckin' stuck with you, right? C-c-come on, let's get the fuck out of here, you little shit." He pulled out his portal gun.

"You got it," was Morty's amicable reply.

**Author's Note:**

> (whoever spots the Skyrim reference gets a cookie)


End file.
